A Fickle Heart
by Hannibal the Animal
Summary: Professor Snape has strict orders from Dumbledore to keep from harassing The Boy Who Lived, so someone else becomes the focus of his building rage. A student takes the fall but but when tragedy strikes, his cruelty had an unforeseen consequence. SS/OC
1. Chapter 1 Malicious Intent

He could safely say that everything began the day that Harry Potter began school at Hogwarts

He was tired, angry and late for class that day. A shipment of Pepper-up Potion had broken all over the floor of the infirmary, and because Poppy was one of the reasons he rarely had parents complain to the Headmaster about accidents that occurred in his classroom, he had decided to help her clean up the glass and smoking liquid. That meant he would arrive late to the class he had been dreading all summer. Potter would be there, the son of the man whom he loathed. And on a lesser note, so would his godson. He wanted to throttle the Potter child, but Dumbledore had already spoken to him about his feelings towards Harry and sinisterly suggested to Severus that he keep the berating to a minimum. That meant someone else would have to take the fall, and today he was in an especially foul mood.

All the tension from the class with Potter accumulated on the following class, Studies of Healing Potions. Severus had watched all the students file into the room, fifteen seventh years and a sixth year, a mixture of all the different houses. He knew it would be an even-tempered class because all the students were intending to become Healers, and Healers were gentle people as a rule. But today he needed to take out his pent up rage, and these soft natured children were easy targets. He locked on to one of the seventh-year girls, a Gryffindor named Eleanor Weatherhorn. She smelt of spearmint and radishes, and he knew instantly she had been eating Hiccupping Giggles, a new candy that that Zonko's had produced. All the consumer needed to do was eat one of the gummy tablets, and they would soon be giggling sporadically. He knew that the work had been done for him and all he had to do was wait until she began to laugh.

He began to speak of the upcoming year and the extra books that they would need to purchase because once again, the Ministry had changed the curriculum requirements. He was patient for his opportunity, a viper waiting to strike. He always loved the feeling he got when a student slipped up for a moment, leaving themselves vulnerable to his wrath. About ten minutes into his lecture, he heard the noise he had been waiting for. He spun around to face the students. He scanned through the rows as though he was searching for the disruptive student, but he of course knew who it was. His eyes reached Weatherhorn, and he could see the fear in her face. His lips curled into a vicious smile, and he walked over to her table.

"Was there something I said to humor you, Miss Weatherhorn?" he said nastily, glaring down at her.

"Not at all, sir," she stuttered, and another wave of giggles issued from her mouth. His smile broadened further and he leaned close to her as her hands covered her mouth in horror.

"Ah, so you are laughing at me, I suppose?"

"No, sir!" she protested but she began to giggle hysterically, and her eyes begged him for mercy; he had none to spare.

He let the smile disappear and growled, "So you find me funny? Is it my appearance, Miss Weatherhorn?"

The other students were deathly quiet, watching the events transpire with a morbid curiosity. They would obviously hear everything he said, so he decided that when he spoke again, it would be quieter.

"No, sir!" she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

He lowered his voice and murmured, "And yet you've laughed twice at my face."

"I--" she started but began to laugh again.

He leered at her and watched her cringing in humiliation. The girl sitting next to her was watching him in fear as well, but he had no intentions of intimidating this girl as well -- that was of no concern to him.

"Well, I find it hard that someone looking like you do today would laugh about my appearance." He felt the sleeve of her robes with a finger and thumb and commented, "Tell me, Miss Weatherhorn, do you enjoy wearing these threadbare clothes year after year? I recognize these from your fifth-year. You still have the stains from the oil of chamomile on the Hogwarts crest. Even the Weasleys managed to get new robes this year. And yet you couldn't be bothered to get something that fits? I know you have the money to buy new robes, so obviously you aren't using your mental abilities to their full extent. Or do you like spending money on the cheap perfume I can smell? Or perhaps a book on quick glamours? Oh yes, Miss Weatherhorn, I can see through the glamour you've made to hide those acne scars that are on your chin. Obviously you couldn't be bothered to stop picking at them while they were trying to heal."

He paused to look at the other students, who looked horrified. He didn't feel quite ready to stop and opted for another round of insults. Unfortunately for her though, she let out a muffled giggle again, and this time he could see the tears beginning to streak down her cheeks.

"Stop your crying, you pitiful child. It makes your complexion mottle, and I'm sure I'm not the only person here who finds your performance entirely unappealing. You are obviously trying to obtain the attention of your peers, but I can assure you they are not impressed--"

She let out another wild laugh and he shouted, "Miss Weatherhorn, I suggest you quit laughing before I send you to you head of house!!"

"I can't!" she sobbed.

He tapped the table with his wand, and a goblet appeared filled with a blue liquid. "Drink," he commanded, his eyes narrowed and he knew everyone in the room was wondering what he gave her. It was a potion he had created when the Weasley twins had first started attending his classes; it inhibited the ability to laugh for about twenty-four hours, and he believed it to be a godsend. The girl quickly gulped it down, amid her tears, and set the goblet back down on the desk with a clatter.

"Now," he said leaning forward, his hands on the desk and face just inches away from hers, "Get. OUT."

She jumped up, the tears still flowing. She grabbed her side bag and parchment, and Severus felt a smug satisfaction that he had finally been able to say what he had been longing to say to Potter. Weatherhorn ran out the classroom door, and he went back to the front of the room to continue his talk as though nothing had happened.

Dinnertime arrived a few hours later, and as he sat at the head table, he could see her sitting next to two of her friends who were obviously still trying to comfort her over the incident. They kept sending him nasty looks, and finally when they decided to glare at him for what felt like the hundredth time that night, he mouthed, "twenty points from Gryffindor." They looked taken aback and he smirked. They didn't look at him again during the meal.

Severus retired to his office after dinner to stock the classroom storeroom with the recent harvest of Flatworm Weed that Sprout had presented him with after dinner. He felt little remorse for how he had treated the Weatherhorn girl; honestly, what kind of fool would come into his class after eating one of those candies? He pondered where she had gotten them (a friend obviously), why she had eaten one before his class, and what kind of performance he could expect from her in the following weeks and months. He heard someone knock on the heavy door that led to the hallway, and he recognized the pattern of noise.

"Come in, Headmaster," he called out. He would have opened the door himself, but his hands were quite busy, and he didn't want to lose track of his actions. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Dumbledore walking towards him, the usually cheery smile on his face.

Severus quickly finished his task and then went to the headmaster, who was scanning over papers on his desk. He brushed away a few of the plant's small leaves that were sprinkled across his sleeves. He offered the older man a chair in front of his desk, who happily accepted it. Dumbledore picked up the parchment he had been writing supplies on and nodded silently to himself before turning to look at Severus.

"I trust today went better than expected?" he asked and Severus bristled, thinking about Potter, Malfoy and Weatherhorn.

"As well as it could," he replied darkly, sitting down in his chair.

Dumbledore still held the supply list in his hand, waving it slightly. "And you've updated your supply list?"

"Yes," he said, waving his wand so that the parchment was rollup and tied with a ribbon for the Headmaster's convenience.

Dumbledore gave him a saintly smile before prodding, "Is something troubling you, Severus?"

He sighed. "I've had a long day and…"

"Let us have a drink," Dumbledore winked and conjured them small goblets filled with firewhisky. The Headmaster raised his goblet in a toast and said, "Here's to the noble endeavor of teaching."


	2. Chapter 2 Introducing Miss Weatherhorn

Eleanor stood infront of the bathroom mirror and stared back at the reflection, quite pleased

Chapter 02: Introducing Miss Eleanor Weatherhorn

Eleanor Weatherhorn had believed from the start that her first day as a seventh-year would be the beginning of something special. When she started the morning, everything seemed to be going just right, much to her surprise. She looked quite nice, especially for a rushed job of quick glamours and no cosmetics. Her long brown hair still had a slightly ginger shimmer from the henna her mum had given her, and the nicely bronzed tan she had acquired at her aunt's in Egypt during the summer holiday made her look absolutely stunning. At least, that's what her friends told her. She practiced the flirtatious look her cousin had taught her and then decided it was time to head to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Much to her delight, her class schedule was entirely composed of courses she needed to qualify for the Assistant Healer position that Madam Pomfrey was offering the following year. Her friends Julie, Sandra, and Marta were also planning on becoming Healers, so the four would all be attending many of the same classes. The morning seemed to gather momentum towards perfection when Professor McGonagall came by to congratulate the four of them on the outstanding scores they had received in order to take the training course that St. Mungo's was offering on all the Saturdays during the fall term. Brandon DeLuc gave her a half smile over breakfast and looked away with red cheeks. Yes, today would indeed be a wonderful day.

A two and a half hour class in DADA was slightly boring, but at least this professor didn't seem terribly arrogant. At least he understood the material he was teaching. His turban was quite entertaining too.

Lunch came after DADA, and the Weasely twins were passing around a bag of confiscated candy they had pinched from Filch's office already. Eleanor grabbed out a few light blue cello-wrapped packets that had a flat disk-like tablet candy. She tried one and it tasted fairly good. Suddenly she began to giggle.

"The Hiccupping Giggles! Give those back to us, Ellie! We're going to Trelawney's next and those would be perfect!"

She giggled stupidly and handed them back to George, who grinned as he and his twin popped a couple in their mouths. Everyone at the table who was within listening range was laughing at her and she smiled sheepishly. At least they would wear off in the hour.

Flitwick seemed thrilled that a candy company was using a charm that he himself had come up with, so her sporadic laughter throughout the medicinal charms class after lunch only made him smile more. By the end of the class, the candies had seemed to lose their effect and she was glad because she was headed to Snape's lair. Study of Healing Potions would be the last class of the day, followed by an hour in the library to study and then dinner. As much as she hated being in the dungeons, she was practically jumping with excitement that she would finally be taking the study of healing potions course that she had been dying to attend for almost two years. This class alone guaranteed her position as an assistant Healer at Hogwarts.

Snape was giving some boring lecture, waving his hand at a blackboard with writing on it when she felt something odd in the back of her throat. It felt almost like a cough, but more pleasant. Much to her surprise she let out a quick giggle.

The class went dead silent and she, along with the rest of the class, looked up at Snape, who was scanning everyone's face. She held deathly still, slightly because she still believed that rumour that Snape could sense fear. His eyes landed on hers, and she felt a certain dread as his lips curled into a vicious smile and he walked over to her table.

"Was there something I said to humor you, Miss Weatherhorn?" he said nastily, glaring down at her.

"Not at all, sir," she stuttered and another wave of giggles issued from her mouth. His smile broadened further, and he leaned close to her as her hands covered her mouth in horror. She could smell that he had eaten breaded chicken and an apple tart at lunch, and she almost began trembling at the realization he was far closer to her than he had ever been before.

"Ah, so you are laughing at me, I suppose?"

"No, sir!" she protested but she began to giggle hysterically. Oh Merlin, why was this happening to her?!

His horrible smile was gone now, and he growled, "So you find me funny? Is it my appearance, Miss Weatherhorn?"

The other students were deathly quiet and she was praying silently for help, even though she knew there was nothing they could do for her now.

"No, sir!" she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She felt like an idiot for giving the bastard one more reason to mock her, but she couldn't help it.

Though he was quiet when he spoke next, she was sure everyone in the class could hear it. "And yet you've laughed twice at my face."

"I--" she started but began to laugh again.

He leered at her and she cringed. She had never been this afraid before! Why the hell didn't he let her go already? He could just get it over with and dock the points, then get on with the class.

"Well, I find it hard that someone looking like you do today would laugh about my appearance." He felt the sleeve of her robes with a finger and thumb and commented, "Tell me, Miss Weatherhorn, do you enjoy wearing these threadbare clothes year after year? I recognize these from your fifth year. You still have the stains from the oil of chamomile on the Hogwarts crest. Even the Weasleys managed to get new robes this. And yet you couldn't be bothered to get something that fits? I know you have the money to buy new robes, so obviously you aren't using your mental abilities to their full extent. Or do you like spending money of the cheap perfume I can smell? Or perhaps a book on quick glamours? Oh, yes, Miss Weatherhorn I can see through the glamour you've made to hide those acne scars that are on your chin. Obviously you couldn't be bothered to stop picking at them while they were trying to heal."

He paused to look around the room, and she glanced over at Julie, who was sitting next to her. She wished that there was something her friend would do or say to save her. Unfortunately for her though, she let out a muffled giggle again, and this time, as his predatory eyes turned back on her, she began to cry.

"Stop your crying you, pitiful child. It makes your complexion mottle, and I'm sure I'm not the only person here who finds your performance entirely unappealing. You are obviously trying to obtain the attention of your peers, but I can assure you they are not impressed--"

She let out another wild laugh and he shouted, "Miss Weatherhorn, I suggest you quit laughing before I send you to you head of house!!"

"I can't!" she sobbed, hiding her face in her hands.

A goblet appeared on the table, filled with a blue liquid. "Drink," he commanded.

She contemplated for a moment if he had poisoned it, but now was not the time to further anger him. She gulped it down quickly, amid her tears, and set the goblet back down on the desk with a clatter.

"Now," he said, leaning forward, his hands on the desk and face just inches away from hers. "Get. OUT."

She jumped up, the tears still flowing. She grabbed her side bag and parchment and ran out the classroom door.

Her feet echoed through the dungeon corridors as she sprinted up stone stairs, trying to get away from that horrible bastard. Fuck Snape! How dare he! Her thought ran amuck as she brushed hair and tears out of her eyes, finally reaching the girl's bathroom in the main halls.

She was still sobbing miserably as she hid in one of the empty stalls. She couldn't believe that she had laughed like a complete idiot, suicidal idiot, to Snape like that. At least she wasn't laughing anymore; she privately wondered if she would ever want to laugh again.

**(TRANSITION)**

Dinner wasn't much better. She sat at the table eating the black forest cake Sandra had convinced the house-elves to give her. Her friends sympathized with her humiliation, and many of her fellow Gryffindor did too, but when Marta and Julie continued with their glaring at Snape, he docked them twenty points, which put them at negative 7.

"We'll get that bastard back; we promise," her friends vowed. She gave them a weak smile. They had a point; after all, how bad could having a class with him be?


	3. Chapter 3 Faulty

Eleanor hesitated outside of the dungeon door. Her friends stood next to her. She was very carefully trying to work up the courage to enter the classroom. She still felt upset every time she saw Snape and being put back into the classroom with him was like a nightmare.

Sandra was first to speak. "Come on, Ellie. He has nothing to bother you about today."

"I can only hope," she said darkly.

"We should go in," Julie said, and Marta nodded in agreement.

"Alright," she said, clenching her hands at her side and walked stiffly into the dungeon classroom.

Her friends followed her in and with a quick side-glance to the man at the desk, she continued to her seat. Sitting down with as much confidence as she could, she pulled out her class textbook and a quill, trying not to look back up at the greasy bastard in charge of the class.

Class started as the last student sat down; Snape stood up from his desk and his deep, dreadful voice

"Today, you will be working out of 'The Healer's Helpmate,' chapter six, page 156."

Eleanor couldn't help but spare a quick glance up to see if Snape was looking at her. And he was. He had a particularily nasty look on his face, his eyes glinting in a spiteful manner.

"You will be individually making the Swamp Throat Salve, which if made properly, should take you the entire class period to make. You may begin."

Eleanor opened the textbook and turned to the specified page quickly. She and Julie were sitting next to one another and along with the rest of the class, went over to the student shelves to find her labeled cauldron. Ingredients were delicate and it was safer to keep them separate from one another, which meant retrieving them one by one. Returning her cauldron to the worktable, she began to read the ingredients and proceeded to collect them one by one from the student store.

On her last trip back to gather the pickled quail egg in a tin mortar, she noticed a wooden drawer labeled "Hell's Whip." Thinking about the small vine's properties quickly, she opened the drawer and pulled out a small plant vine. The small spike-shaped leaves glistened with red spores and gave off a very dusty smell. She slipped it into her work apron's pocket and then collected the quail's egg.

An hour into the class, Eleanor had managed to make the gelationius base used for the salve and was very happy that nothing had gone wrong so far. She had already mixed the combination of assorted plants and animal matter that were to be added to the base when she remembered the Hell's Whip in her pocket. Quickly, she found a piece of parchment and began to scrape the red spores from the plant onto the paper. Placing the parchment on her set of scales, she measured out just a pinch of spores. Lifting the parchment, she carefully tipped the spores into her base mixture, though when she reached over to get the rest of her ingredients, she saw Snape standing there, looking very angry.

He cleared his throat loudly and said, in a voice that everyone could hear, "Once again it would seem Miss Weatherhorn has proven she is incompetent when it comes to performing in my class. Please explain to me, and the rest of your classmates, why you put the spores of the Hell's Whip plant into a salve that is supposed to relieve Swamp Throat?"

"Well, the amount that I put in – "

"Miss Weatherhorn, do you realize that Hell's Whip is a coughing agent? Used to stimulate the reflex that causes a person to cough? Or is that not obvious to you?" "It says quite clearly in your ingredient index, what its purpose--"

"Yes, but the amount I put is--"

"DO NOT INTURUPT ME!" he shouted, causing her to jump. "Clean up your workspace and leave. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Eleanor wanted to throw the cauldron at his back, but did as she was told and cleaned up her spot at the work table. Gathering her book and some of the parchment, she left the dungeon classroom, once again cowed by Snape.

* * *

At dinner that night, her three friends leaned in close to discuss the afternoon's events.

"Eleanor, why did you improvise the salve? You cost us another ten points!" Julie whispered.

"Hell's Whip can be used sparingly in a mixture that is placed on the skin to stimulate the body's cough reflex enough that it simply loosens phlem. If that pompous ass back there would have let me explain, he would have seen that I was improving what was already in our text book," she argued.

"Even so, Ellie, you shouldn't give him a reason to be angry with you," Marta muttered.

Eleanor looked down at her plate and stirred her peas into her mashed potatoes.

* * *

Severus sat looking over Weatherhorn's salve, which he had recreated. It wasn't an ingenius discovery, but a clever adaptation. She obviously understood the concept of herbology in potions and healing.

He had waited again, just as patiently as before, for her to slip up. Occasionally he would see her glance in his direction, her eerie gray eyes gleaming from across the room. That was the one thing he thought of when her name appeared on a class roster or potions essay. Her eyes were bright, especially for a colour that wasn't common to begin with, but the way they stood out against her olive skin was ghostlike. Other students he remembered by accidents they had made in his class, grades they received on their quizzes, whether they were part of their house Quidditch team, family members, etc. But with her, he always identified her with those peculiar eyes. Much like Potter and that idioticiclly infamous scar.

Severus shook himself from his thoughts. He took the salve, which he had labeled neatly, stored in a jar, and placed it in his pocket. He was headed to the hospital wing and he had decided to slip it into the inventory. No point in wasting it.

This evening at supper he could see that a few of the Gryffindors were slightly annoyed at their house points put into the negative range once more. He watched as Weatherhorn sat in her chair, talking with her friends and eating dinner. He wondered for a moment what reprocusions she would face among her housemates if she continued to be the reason Gryffindor couldn't earn points. Then again, the Potter boy seemed to be using his celebrity-hood to earn points left in right for breaking rules. Just like his father had been.

Casting a nasty look over to Potter, he turned his attention back to Flitwick, who was describing the odds the Hollyhead Harpies were facing this year.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry that this chapter is so short. I try not to make a habit of it  
_


	4. Chapter 4 September's End

Eleanor sat at one of the library's many large wooden tables; her hands were tightly balled into fists, resting heavily on her thighs. Her cheeks were blistering hot and her chest felt constricted as she tried to process what was happening.

The library was usually her haven to get away from loud students and have whispered gossip and hushed giggles with her girlfriends—today that was not the case. The light from the mid-afternoon sun dappled across the table, warm browns, oranges and yellows that should have comforted her, but they did nothing. Julia and Marta sat across from her, exchanging nervous and uncomfortable looks between them.

"Eleanor… it's just that we have our own careers to think about, you know. If Snape keeps punishing us we'll never get time to study and if we don't study, we'll fail our NEWTS," Julia said, giving her a shrug that made her thick black ringlets bounce on her shoulders.

Marta nodded, her short brown hair swaying up and down furiously. "And I can't fail my NEWTs, Eleanor. My aunt has arranged us internships with St. Mungo's, well… except for you. She thinks you might be too selfish for Healer material. You know, with the continuous trouble and all."

Eleanor's eyes widened and she hissed, "She thinks I'm selfish? She's known me for four years; she could have voiced her opinions a while ago if she really thought that."

"Eleanor, please don't make this so hard for us. We still like you. We just don't want to get in trouble with Snape," Julia argued as though it were sound reasoning.

"Well, some Gryffindors you both are. Renowned for loyalty, my arse! What would the sorting hat say about both of you now?" Eleanor snarled, hoping that Madame Pince wouldn't hear and throw her out.

"We'll see you around, Eleanor," Julia said uneasily and the two girls hurried away, leaving her alone.

How could they? She was their friend, and they were supposed to stand by her side. Julie had been her friend for about four years now and Marta the same. Sandra had been her class partner for six years and friend for five… This was ridiculous. She had to find Sandra and talk to her—she could reason with them!

Eleanor stood up from the table quickly, grabbing her book bag, and fled the library. Mazes of bookshelves that reached the ceiling with ladders stationed throughout for reaching tomes high up. The smell of dust, hinted with the fading odor of binding fluids and decomposing parchments, filled her nostrils, an antique perfume that excited the bibliophile in her. She had favourite books that would wiggle out from between the others, begging her to pick them up and take them back to the Gryffindor tower for a long night of studying in bed.

This afternoon she ignored the books, just desperate to get the hell out of the smothering old room. She burst through the heavy doors, panting and then sprinted down the halls to find the only friend she knew would stick by her side. Down two flights of stairs and across the courtyard, she found herself in the Transfigurations Corridor, alone and out of breath. She was still fighting back the tears burning her eyes and there was a lump in her throat that was making it hard to breathe, while her chest ached as if her heart was being crushed by an invisible hand.

The door to the Transfiguration room opened and the Advanced Transfiguration class exited, students grouping off to talk amongst themselves as they headed to their next location. Eleanor spotted a tall blonde and quickly moved to her, grabbing her upper arm.

"Sandra, can I talk to you?" she said breathlessly

"Oh, hello, Eleanor," the blonde girl said impassively.

"Sandra, Julie and Marta both said that they were going to stop associating themselves with me –" she started and was cut off.

"Because of the trouble with Snape. I know," Sandra said coolly.

"You do?" she said, confused.

"Yes." The other girl flipped her hair with a severe snap of her wrist, sending the blonde cascade over her shoulder. Her teal eyes locked onto Eleanor's and she said quietly, "It was actually my idea."

"What?" Eleanor stuttered in disbelief.

Sandra gave a scowl and snapped, "Eleanor, you're costing us house points and getting us in trouble on a constant basis. Already this month, I've been in detention twice because I've been with you. I need to spend this year working on my classes and getting recommendations for jobs. If you're going to hold me back, then I need to find myself a better friend."

"This is coming from the girl who lost us two hundred points in one evening back in our fourth year?" Eleanor asked critically, pointing an accusing finger at the blonde's face.

Sandra sighed impatiently, pushing Eleanor's finger away with her own hand. "That was three years ago. I wasn't thinking about my profession at the time."

"Sandra, you can't do this to me. You know I'm not doing anything to get you in trouble. Snape giving us detention because my book was last out is not my fault! I haven't ever tried to get you in trouble and you know it," Eleanor pleaded.

Now it was Sandra's turn to point an accusing finger to accompany her rejoinder. "Listen, Eleanor. McGonagall wants that house cup badly this year. Every point we've worked hard to earn is usually gone by the end of the week because of something you do that pisses Snape off. If we didn't have that Granger girl or Potter, we'd be in the negatives still. He removes more points depending on how many people are with you, so we all decided that the more people who avoid you, the less points we'll lose—"

"Who is 'we all'? Are there more people who know about this?" Eleanor asked suspiciously, suddenly feeling very ill.

"All the Gryffindor seventh-years had a secret meeting when you were at detention last night. And most of the fifth and sixth-years know, too."

"This is positively, _Slytherin_. How could you guys?!" Eleanor sobbed, unable to keep her tears back any longer.

"Crying again, Miss Weatherhorn?" a sharp, dreadful voice resonated behind them.

Eleanor didn't turn around to see it was Snape—she really didn't have to. He came stalking around them, his long robes floating around his feet, finally stopping in front of them.

"Bye, Eleanor," Sandra muttered, lowering her eyes and hurried down the hall.

"Five points from Gryffindor for making a classmate cry, Miss Shunpike," Snape called after her and then turned to Eleanor.

"And ten points from Gryffindor for making a spectacle of yourself in the hallway, Miss Weatherhorn."

Eleanor stared hatefully at his knees, not courageous enough to give him the look face to face.

"Clean yourself up pitiful girl. It brings down your house's morale and I know you'd _hate_ to disappoint your fellow Gryffindors," he sneered and then spun on his heel, walking away.

"What do you know about Gryffindors?" she mumbled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

* * *

As Severus ate dinner that night, he watched the Gryffindor table with a sharp eye. Something was different. There was discord among the house and it took him a few minutes to confirm that it was Weatherhorn that was causing it. It appeared she was isolated from the other upperclassmen, forced between a second year and The Brat Who Lived.

'_This is going to be an interesting game to play,'_ he pondered as he chewed his bite of pot-roast. _'I wonder how long it will take to break her.'_

September was closing with a spectacular end.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ I just want to thank the lovely Mrs.Snape for her reviews! Sorry it's taking so long for Miss Bodhi to write her chapters (and she apologises too!) but we've both been very busy!_


	5. Chapter 5 Cushioning Charm

October arrived without any pleasentries, passing day by day in solitude, exiled from her classmates. They seemed continuously angry with her, ignoring her no matter what class she was in and in the commonroom. Even after the Halloween incident with the troll, she was no longer unified with her housemates.

Meals were hell and she had taken to eatting at the end of the table closest to the door, which meant she was stuck next to obnoxious eleven year olds who were constantly lamenting their lack of brooms or trading juvenille hexes. It wasn't that she didn't like the younger students, she just wished that she could be with the ones her own age.

She began to retreat to her bed after dinner, avoiding the commonroom all together. She'd light a cluster of floating candles and draw the bed curtains, hiding in her only sanctuary with classwork and books. Her classes weren't too difficult, but the dreariness was beginning to overwhelm her. Snape only became worse and because the potion's class had an uneven number of students, she had started sitting at a table by herself, no potions partner. That seemed to satifsy the other students because it meant that she didn't drag anyone into Snape's wrath. And working alone was better than being ignored.

It was the middle of November, which meant the longer winter skirts and heavy jumpers instead of cardigans; the chill outside was nothing compared to the cold she felt with the castle walls.

Her summer tan was gone now and she couldn't deny that she looked unwell. Glamours were layered on to give an artificial blush and remove the look of sunken cheeks and dark circles beneith her eyes. Her hair was a deep brown, no traces of the henna left, and instead of keeping it tied back, she let it hang loose around her face, hiding behind it.

One afternoon in History of Magic she composed a long letter to her parents about how horrible it had become at Hogwarts for her. She was sitting at a table by herself in the back of the lecture hall, watching Binns float around the front, droning on about troll revolts. The letter was long and as she leaned to her side to rummage through her book bag, something caught her eye. The table had numerous carvings from students past and her fingers delicately traced two names by the lower edge of the left side, not far from where she had quilled her letter.

_William Weatherhorn was here! 1966-1973_

Added below that was:

_& so was Gregory Weatherhorn! Class of '75!_

She felt her eyes water and as covertly as she could, wiped away the forming tears. How could she complain? Will and Greg never had. They had loved school.

Looking around carefully, she pulled out the pocketknife that had been passed down from her father to both her brothers and now to her. Quietly, she left her mark, too.

_Eleanor Weatherhorn, __Gryffindor_

Satisfied, she swept away the wood particles and admired her work. The letter was crumpled and hidden away in her bookbag. She could survive this.

* * *

Severus winced, trying to put a little weight as possible on his leg. It had been a long day of teaching and even though he had avoided most of his usual walking, the injury wasn't making things easy for him. Filch's help had been minimal and practically worthless in the end, though not for a lack of trying. The poison in the wound was agrivating no matter how many times he tried to leach it out.

Dreiberhunds were dangerous creatures indeed; they had a sticky saliva that acted as a carrying solution to their poisonous fangs and to be honest he had been extrodinarily lucky that he had only been given a glancing nip by one of the heads. He dreaded thinking of what could have happened had he been gotten by all three. Being mangled by that wretched beast guarding the trapdoor had put back his actions conciderably. And the blasted Quirrell! Just wait 'til he got that worthless bag of flesh alone.

His eyes watered as he slathered the heavy cream on the wound. Merlin, it hurt! He tried to focus on the heavy gardinia scent, but that wasn't working. He took deep breaths to keep from screaming and counted very slowly to twenty before the salve's numbing properties were beginning to take hold. He wondered how much longer he could last like this; he knew he couldn't go to Pomfrey for help because she would want to know how he had come in contact with a Dreiberhund in the first place, and he doubted she had the training to take care of it in the first place. He supposed he could go to St. Mungo's, but he'd have to go by Floo, which meant he'd have to use Dumbledore's office, the only fireplace in the castle connected to the British Floo Network. But Dumbledore would want to know why he'd been on the third floor and he couldn't very well tell him AGAIN that he suspected that prick Quirell of being up to something. He could always just break into Dumbledore's office, he decided and make appologies later.

'_Yes, that will just have to do,'_ he thought as he tried to catch his breath.

Fuck. Now he was going to have to leave the dungeons and get himself back up to the fourth floor. He turned around slowly, both happy and angry to leave his office. During the summer Peeves flooded the dungeons with the murky water from the lake and apple brandy, giving everything a rotting fermented scent that still lingered even now after hundreds of spells and charms. The poltergeist had also destroyed thousands of speciemens in jars either smashing them or emptying them. Severus had spent the better part of July cleaning up the mess and attempting to restock his stores both personal and student. The whole place made him angry in general, even if it was the only place here he could call his own.

His leg collapsed benieth him and his hand shot up to the shelves to catch himself before he fell to the floor. He hung from the warped wood and felt something close to his hand rattle and begin to roll off the shelf. A large jar with a pickled tadfoal fell to the ground, narrowly missing him, and shattered on impact. Severus cursed louded and lowered himself down to the dirty stone floor, trying to save the precious specimen from further damage and contamination. Obviously, he hadn't placed the protection spell on everything.

He conjured a new jar with preserving fluid and slipped the small dead creature into its ochre depths. His leg was screaming in pain and he wished he knew more spells to help himself, but that was one of the first rules of first aid: _don't use spells if you don't know the potential effects it may have on the injury!_ Poppy had certainly drilled that one into his head and he was beginning to regret he had ever listened.

Very slowly and very patiently, he limped to the headmaster's office, trying to use every secret passage concivable to shorten the length of the trip. Fortuanately, the moving staircase was willing to comply with him and moved to direct him towards the Headmaster's office. In his pain and anger, he didn't see the young woman hiding behind a suit of armor in one of the hallways many recesses.

* * *

Eleanor held her breath as she watched the tall man limping heavily past her. He didn't seem to notice her and judging by the grimace on his face, he seemed to be in an incredible amount of pain.

It was her nature to feel compassion and it was truly taking all of her willpower not to fix him. However, she had no idea what was wrong with his leg, and it was close enough to the castle's curfew that she'd probably get in serious trouble. Enemy or not, she couldn't stand to see Snape in that much pain.

She cocked her head slightly, trying to recall any spells that might help, then smiled to herself. She muttered a cushioning charm for him to walk on and flattened herself against the wall once more, listening to his foot steps fade away. She peeked out from behind suit of armour. He was gone, probably off to the Headmaster's office. She picked up the wrapped cloth sack of buttered rolls and sliced apples that she had gotten from the kitchen and very quietly, made her way back to Gryffindor tower.

* * *

Severus limped into the lobby of St. Mungo's. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but walking had become a bit easier once he reached the headmaster's office, though it wouldn't have been the first time that he feel victim to the placebo effect.

The welcoming witch behind the counter looked at him sourly, as though it were a great inconvince for him to be interupting her in the middle of the nothing.

"Dreiberhund bite," he hissed through his teeth.

"I'll get you an attendent with a wheel chair. Please wait right there," she said, jabbing her finger towards a group of worn wooden chairs.

He grimaced and gave her a nasty look, but hobbled over to the seats none the less. By the time he sat down, a pretty, black-haired witch arrived with a tired looking wheelchair.

"Severus, shall I help you into the chair?"

"No," he assured, then realised that she had called him by his given name. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

She began to push the wheel chair and gave him a sly smile. "Madison Purge, Ravenclaw? We sat together in Herbology," she said with a wink

In the haze of pain, he recognised the girl he had once aided in the arson of greenhouse 2. "Oh, yes, yes I remember you," he said with a tight smile.

Her smile widened. "You're lucky. Tonight Augustus Pye is working on the first floor and he does _wonders_ with animal bites."

"Glad to hear," he muttered.

They arrived at the first floor, and he was wheeled into a room with many hospital beds, empty except for a whimpering bright blue child at the far end, her parents sitting at her bedside looking grave. Purge helped him onto one of the cots and left with the wheelchair. He watched the little girl for a moment, but lost interest quickly, instead deciding to close his eyes and take deep breaths.

The sound of an opening door made him look up and a smiling man in healer's robes entered, smiling at Severus.

"Hello, Professor Snape. It says you have a Dreiberhund bite?" Augustus Pye asked as he looked at a piece of parchment.

"Yes," he replied and winced as the healer used scissors to cut his trouser leg appart to look at the nasty bite.

"Any spells?"

Severus looked away from the oozing flesh. "No. Just an advanced form of poison leeching potion with rosemary and powdered bezore."

Pye nodded and put on a pair of spectles with brilliant orange lenses.

"You have a cushioning charm on your foot, to support your steps. I thought you said you didn't use any spells," he said looking up at Severus with a perplexed look on his face.

Severus was confused himself, shaking his head. "I didn't. I don't have the suffecent training for this kind of injury."

Pye looked at his foot with interest, his eyes looking large and Trelawny-like behind the orange lenses. "Who ever did it did a fine job. Worthy of a position as a healer, in fact."

"Really," Severus said and cringed as the healer accidently bumped his leg.

"Yes, it's been applied only to your foot, extending up to your ankle, adequitly supporting your leg." Pye took off the glasses and as he pulled a small manual of medical spells out of his pocket, added, "I'd really like to meet whoever cast this, if you find out."

"Yes, I'll be sure to find out," Severus murmured.

* * *

Severus lay comfortably in bed for the first time in two weeks, his hands folded behind his head. His leg felt slightly sore, but that was easy to ignore now. He was wondering who had cast the cushioning charm on his foot; it had been an exceptionally generous gesture and because he was so hated by most of the students, it really narrowed down the

'_Lily could have been a healer, a marvolous one. But she just had to become an auror instead,'_ he thought to himself.

He extingushed the candle on his bedstand and closed his eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this is never in a polished form--I normally want to just post it and move onto the next chapter. I promise once this story is my top writing priority, I get all of these chapters nice and neat!_


	6. Chapter 6 Winter Holiday

Eleanor read the letter a second time just to make sure she was reading it right.

"_Ellie _

_Sorry about the short notice, but Dad and I have to go to Alexandria for great-grandfather Ishmael. He's been bitten by something, but he won't tell us what. We won't be able to pick you up from King's Cross, you'll have to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. We'll send your presents in a few days. We love you and promise to write a longer letter once we get to Aunt __Thermuthis'. Tell your friends we said hello and happy Christmas!_

_We love you,_

_Mum & Dad_

_P.S. Don't have too much fun!_

Eleanor cried silently for a few minutes before she was able to compose herself; wiping her tears on the cuff of her sleeve, she knew she'd have to notify Professor McGonagall that she'd be staying behind this holiday. Her Sunday morning's porriage was cooling down on the table, but she had hardly touched it to begin with.

She couldn't believe this was happening—she had just sent her parent's their Yule gift, a box filled with bluebell bubblegum and the new flavour of Honeyduke's famous fudge. She didn't want to be here for the winter holiday!

McGonagall wasn't at the head table, so crumpling the letter and sticking it in her robes' pocket, she sought her head of house out. She side-skirted some Gryffindor girls chattering in the courtyard and gave a polite nod to Flitwick, who was carrying an exceptionally large parrot through the transfiguration corridor.

The door to the McGonagall's classroom was open and Eleanor gave a quiet knock on the doorframe as she leaned in.

"Professor?" she called out and a tabby cat appeared from between the rows of tables, quickly transforming into Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Weatherhorn, how are you this morning?"

"Uh, well. And I trust you are the same?"

"Quite. What have you come for?"

"I just received a letter from my mum. I'm not going to be going home this holiday." "They had to return to Egypt for my great-grandfather. He was bitten by something."

"Ah. And your paternal grandparents couldn't take you?"

"Grandmother Eleanor and Grandfather Marcus do charity work in Cape Town during the winter holiday, part of the Muggle Ubuntu Reliance Coalition."

"I see. Well, I shall notify the house elves you shall be staying and update the list of students returning home."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Have a nice day, Miss Weatherhorn."

"You, too, Professor."

* * *

Lunch time found Eleanor sitting in one of the library's secluded window seats, sneaking small bites of a few finger sandwiches she had the elves in the kitchen make. She was reading a book on Summarian creatures for an essay she was anticipating in Defence Against the Dark Arts—Quirell was looking for information on monsters and dark beings that had unusual invulnerability to death and mortal wounds. They had already written three essays on the theory behind drinking unicorn's blood, the proper recovery and containment of a horocrux, and a discussion on followers of dark magic; he always promised students if they taught him something new about the subjects he was teaching, he would give them a "Outstanding" on their NEWTs. Ellie really wanted that "O" on her transcript and anything that could help her get it was worth the time spent here in the library.

There was a tap on the window and she jerked her head up; there was a large, tired looking osprey carrying a good-sized package. She quickly opened the window and the bird came inside, landing on the cushion by her feet.

She waved her wand at the finger sandwiches, turning them into small trout and fed them to the bird as she untied the package from its leg. Finished with its meal, the large bird flew out the window, leaving Eleanor by herself again. There was a small scroll tied to the top and she unwrapped it, recognizing her grandmother's handwriting instantly.

"_To our dearest Eleanor_

_Here's your first Yule gift, eleven more to come!"_

She opened it up and gave an embarrassed laugh. Socks of all different colours and patterns, different lengths and materials. Grandmum Eleanor had taken to knitting last summer and it appeared that she had never really honed her skills.

"Some of these don't even look like they're the same size," she commented.

"NO TALKING!" Madame Pince barked from some corner of the library and Eleanor decided to abandon her studying to take the present up to her trunk.

Once in the Gryffindor commonroom, Ellie found a brown-haired boy with a toad balanced on his shoulder stood looking at a wrapped package in his lap. He looked up and upon noticing hers, he smiled.

"Your Yule gift? I just got mine. From my gran. It's a new quill set."

She grinned and tilted the box for him to look in. "Hand knit socks and none of them are the same size. It's from my grandmum, too."

He smiled and looked at the eagle quill he kept turning over in his hands and she was about to compliment it when Julia and Marta entered the common room. Eleanor lowered her eyes and hurried up the dormitory staircase.

At dinner she received the first Yule gift from her parents and she felt her chest tighten, realising she wasn't going to be with them at Christmas. One of the family's owls dropped an envelope in her lap, which she opened to find a quickly scrawled note in her father's handwriting.

"_Hope school is fun. Family wishes you were here with us. No updates on Great-granddad. We love you. Happy first day of Yule!"_

She pulled out a second piece of paper and read aloud. "A gift certificate to have your brother's wand cleaned and kempt at Ollivander's."

Her hand touched her pocket and she felt the hard line that was Gregory's wand. It could probably use a good polish. She folded the envelope and tucked it in her pocket.

* * *

The week dragged on with a sense of foreboding that she would be spending the winter holiday away from her family for the first time. Snape seemed to be in a particularly rare mood of fury, making scathing remarks about her methods of dicing and stirring and at one point she swore he almost tried tripping her as she left the dungeon room. However the little presents from her parents and paternal grandparents on a daily basis made things a little better.

Finally the day arrived when all the students headed out of the castle to board the Hogwarts Express, leaving her behind. She didn't bother seeing her friends off—she knew they weren't expecting her to anyway. There was only one other Gryffindor girl who was staying in Hogwarts for the holiday, a second year who was bunking with Hufflepuffs instead of staying in the tower. A few of the Gryffindor boys stayed, a seventh year named Byron and two first years, Harry Potter and a Weasley. Byron obviously wasn't talking to her and she didn't really want to talk to first years, so she was completely on her own.

Christmas morning arrived very early for her, six fourty-one to be exact. There was a light snowfall outside her window and the sun was just starting to rise. She yawned and moved about under the heavy blankets piled haphazardly on her bed; her hand searched under her pillow for her wand and mumbled,

"Lumos."

The floating candles hovering above her sparked alive and she sat up. At the foot of her bed was a large scattering of presents that the house elves had set out for her. She giggled happily, realising what day it was and crawled over to her gifts. A large, purple, six-sided box interested her first and the tag said it was from her Aunt Acenath and Uncle Adam. She opened it and uncovered a lovely painted wooden globe of the moon. It hovered in the box and she carefully tossed it in the air where it stayed, illuminating palely among the floating candles.

The next present was in a large red envelope and she could tell right away that it was from her paternal grandparents. She tore open the paper and out slipped a burgundy velvet pouch; when she pulled open the golden drawstrings, out poured a lovely set of gobstones in ancient Roman glass that looked like opal. She and her grandfather loved to play the game and as she collected the stones off her bed, she made a mental promise to play a game with him this summer.

Her cousins Chione and Eshe had sent her a lavender-coloured crystal ball, one that she had admired in the Alexandria marketplace during the summer. She couldn't wait to bring it to Divination and show it off to Trelawny; all of her crystal balls were chipped and scratched, though Ellie doubted that was the reason no one ever saw anything in them.

In a slender wooden tube, Uncle Oubastet sent her two papyrus scrolls with recipes for blood replenishing potions written in brilliant green ink that shimmered when she turned it in the light. Perhaps she could use these for her finals in potions. That ought to wipe the smirk right off Snape's face.

From her Grandfather Msrah there was a lovely, new crystal ink well filled with a mixture of dragon's blood and ash; it was a nearly indestructible ink that many medi-witches used on their notes—if something splashed on it, it wouldn't wash off. Grandfather Msrah always had something helpful to give her.

Her Aunt Thermuthis sent her one of the imported French hats with griffin feathers and a heavy silk band in a brilliant copper hue. She promptly put it on her head and grinned at the perfect fit. Aunt Thermuthis had probably hand-picked the griffin feathers herself; she worked at the Cairo Harbor as the magical creature shipping inspector.

There was a huge, brown, paper-wrapped package containing dried fruit and a wooden box of poisonous candles from her great-grandfather Ishmael, along with a small jar that appeared to be filled with human knucklebones bearing the label:

"_Powder them for your classes. Best used in love potions. Find yourself a husband."_

She grimaced and tossed it onto the blankets. She may be seventeen, but she wasn't going to run off and look for someone to marry, no matter what her great-grandfather wanted.

The last present to open was the one from her parents. No bigger than her largest textbook, it was heavier than she expected. She pulled open the plum paper and then the red cardboard box, suddenly finding herself at a loss for words as she saw what nestled in the mauve tissue paper. A scrap of parchment with her father's long script lie next to the present and she read it in a voice almost sacred.

"Your brother William's Omnioculars. _Wow_," she murmured, turning them over in her hands.

The heavy brass Omnioculars looked like it had been recently oiled and polished, though it still had the heavy scratches and dents it had acquired from her brother's heavy handling. She leaned over to her nightstand and tapped the drawer knob to unlock it. The omnioculars were nestled safely between two stacks of handkerchiefs and a book of poetry she had stolen from the library.

Something rattled between her bed and the nightstand and she leaned over the edge to see her broom case shaking. She smiled. Flying! That sounded perfect!

"All right, be patient. I have to get dressed."

The broom case stopped moving and she hopped off her bed, recoiling at how cold the stone floor was. She quickly waved her wand the floor warmed slightly.

Her parents didn't approve of the trousers Muggle women wore, nor the soft shirts, complaining they were too tight, too revealing, that proper witches weren't supposed to dress that way, so she wore skirt, dresses and robes. A few of the other girls came from the conservative wizarding households, too, so she didn't feel so alone; that used to be a clique that she belonged to but even fashion couldn't unite them under Snape's overbearing hatred.

Pulling the key out from under her nightgown, she unlocked the trunk, pushing open the rolled top and began to sort through her things to find the robes she was looking for. She pushed aside the divination cards she had completely forgotten about and a set of Yeti dice that had been stolen back from Filch's office. Grumbling, she made a promise to sort through her trunk and organize it because the amount of crap was overwhelming. Finally, at the bottom were the clothes she was looking for. She stripped out of her nightgown and quickly pulled on acid green bloomers and a sky blue camisole, trying to avoid the light chill of the dormitory. Next came winter robes, thick black wool layered over her favorite brilliant yellow petticoat, swishing and swaying right below her knees.

There were only two truly long socks that came up mid-thigh and she dug out a garter belt. Her left leg got a royal blue sock with twinkling yellow stars and for her right, a lush mallard green sock with black arrows. She carefully attached them to the garter belt and found her scuffed pair of ankle-laced boots. She examined the slender heel of the left boot; she would need to put more Spell-o-stick on it soon, it looked like it was coming loose again.

Lastly she clasped on a heavy plum hooded-cloak and pulled on the new hat from Aunt Thermuthis. In the mirror across the room she caught her reflection; still a little gaunt, but she looked happy. She gave herself a shy smile, something that had been hidden for a while and she twirled. She looked like the fae did, with their doll clothes, though she certainly wasn't dressed as bright as them.

"Okay, broom. Let's go," Eleanor ordered and clapped her hands.

The latch on the broom case popped and it flew open, the broom shooting over to her. She hurried out of the room and down the stairs; in the Gryffindor commonroom, the Weasley boy sat by the large Christmas tree, unwrapping presents. She crawled through the portrait hole and ran down the staircase, the broom vibrating her hand, obviously excited that it was going to be taken out for the first time in months.

It had been Gregory's broom, so it had taken a good beating during his three years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and while it flew fast, it refused to go too high and its cushioning charm wasn't as fresh as it used to be. It made for a slightly bumpy ride, but flying was flying, any way you wanted to look at.

While running down the stairs, she ran into Professor Quirrell looking as though he was going to go onto the forbidden third floor. He looked startled to see her.

"Good morning, Professor Quirrell. Happy Christmas," she said quickly.

He gave her a sad smile. "Happy Christmas, Miss Weatherhorn. Off for a morning flight?"

"Yes, I thought it would be nice to clear my head with the fresh air," she said and her own smile faltered. "Are you okay? You look a bit sick—

"Haven't been able to keep my food down," he said, his eyes darting in sunken sockets.

"I'm sorry to hear that." She pulled out her and her friendly smile returned. "If you let me have a look at you, I'm sure I could recommend something to hel—"

"NO!" he shouted and she drew back in shock. His cheeks flushed and he quickly corrected himself. "I mean, no, don't worry about me. I'll be fine, probably nothing more than doxy flu or winter ail."

Eleanor watched him continue up the stairs slightly perplexed by his outburst, but decided that perhaps he was just lonely from the holidays. The poor man couldn't seem to shake the rumours about vampires and curses—Ellie wondered if any it was true.

But no matter. She had flying to attend to!

Once she reached owlrey, careful not to slip on the fresh bird shit that the Christmas deliveries had brought, she climbed onto the ledge, straddled the broom, and jumped off—

* * *

Snape watched from the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Someone was flying above the Lake and he pulled out a monocular out of one of his robes's many hidden pockets. He focused on the flying figure, ready to classify the person as friend or foe.

He "hrmph'd" as soon as he saw who it was. Young Miss Weatherhorn, bundled up in bright colours; the girl was pulling fast, albeit unsafe moves, swooping and diving over the lake. Obviously it wasn't a school issue broom, probably her own.

As he shifted his balance from his right foot to his left, he watched the Gryffindor laugh and while he couldn't hear it himself, he could bet it was first time she had done it since the day she had laughed in his class. A smug smile crossed his lips and he tucked monocular away once more. She was probably using a Cleansweep 7. He had a vintage Moontrimmer that had been his mother's, an Oakshaft 110 he had acquired seven years ago for long trips he couldn't safely apperate through. And a Nimbus 2000 that Lucius had bought for him last Christmas, an extravagant gift that he secretly took great pride in. Like many wizards his age, having a cabinet with many brooms was an incredible investment, and he was more than happy to gloat that he had three of his own.

His gloved hard was wrapped tightly around the Oakshaft's handle, pitted and grooved from years of faithful service on trips made under Dumbledore's request. While its heavy build wasn't made for speed, it was excellent for long flight, able to make trips over hundreds of miles, thousands if properly cared for. He fondly rubbed his thumb over the wood, wishing he hadn't put so many miles on the faithfully serving device. Madame Hooch had done the best she could in restoring it, but there was only so much one could do for a broom.

The snow crunched behind Severus and he spun around, wand drawn.

"Sweet Merlin, Headmaster! You shouldn't sneak up on me like that!"

Dumbledore gave him a placid smile and placed a long slender hand on his shoulder. "I didn't realise you'd be out this early. How was your flight? I trust Godric's Hollow was empty this early?"

Severus shrugged. "It was and the flight was tolerable; only a light snow."

"The wreath you took—it was one Pomona grew, correct? Withstanding poinsettias. Such a beautiful scarlet." Dumbledore's eyes focused on the flying form of Weatherhorn, a dreamy look on his face, as though he were recalling something from years long past. "I took a beautiful collection of peonies to the family crypt. Yellows and blues, a smattering of pinks…flowers truly are a beautiful way to remember the ones we love."

"Happy Christmas," Severus sighed, not wanting to talk about whose grave he left the poinsettias on.

"Happy Christmas, my boy."


	7. Chapter 7 And A Happy New Year

It was late afternoon and Eleanor had finished writing the last of the "Happy New Year," cards she needed to owl off to her former friends families. She set her quill down on the common room desk, leaning back in her chair and stretched her arms. Two first years were playing a loud game of chess by the fireplace, arguing whether the Weasley boy had made a good move with his rook.

Yesterday, she had received a New Year's card from Sandra's family, the Shunpikes, and then another this morning, a lilac-coloured countdown card from Marta's mum and stepdad. When Professor McGonagall offered to take all the seventh and sixth year students who had remained for the winter holiday off to Hogsmeade that New Year's Eve, she jumped on the chance to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop to buy some cards to send off as well.

Hogsmeade was tranquil; covered in snow that glistened in the afternoon light,

When the cluster of students dispersed across the town, she jangled the few coins in her pocket, humming a Celestina Warbeck tune as she made her way to the shop. Surprisingly, the shop was packed, assorted witches hurrying around to pick up late Christmas presents and last minute New Year's gifts, just like her. At the front of the store, in front of the shelves holding parchments and scrolls, there was a table display of cards, boxed and ready.

Eleanor's hands flitted over the stacks of boxes, trying to decide which one she'd most want to send out. "Hmm, fireworks, confetti, flowers, songs…ooh, candy!"

She made to grab for the one with candy, but a woman standing next to her bumped into her, being pushed by another witch. The already frazzled nerves of the customers began to unravel completely as an argument broke out. It escalated as one flustered witch began to recite a particularly nasty hex, scattering the crowd and Eleanor managed to grab a box at random before retreating to the counter.

"This all?" the shopkeep asked.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't going to get hit by any stray spell. "Yes."

"A galleon and two knuts."

Eleanor dug the money out of her pocket and put it on the counter, hurrying out of the shop as a full out assault of spells occurred. She was a little thirsty so she wandered across the snow covered ground to one of her favourite places, the Three Broomsticks. As she opened the large door, she could see it was festively decorated, the air thick and heavy with the scent of cinnamon and mincemeat pie. It was crowded inside and she navigated her way over to an empty stool at the counter and planted herself among the tavern's rowdy, merry drunks. Rosmertta, drying a stein with a towel, approached and asked sweetly,

"What'll you have, sweetheart?"

"A butterbeer and one of those hot buns."

The barkeep nodded. "Coming right up."

The box in her hands was a light purple, the colour for candy cards. Rosmertta set the bottle of butterbeer and one of the sticky buns in front of her, and Ellie drank the refreshment gratefully. Purple cards were for candy and she had two pale blue cards at home, so that meant they were confetti. She turned the box over in her hands and wondered if this would help make amends with the friends who had abandoned her. A sigh escaped her lips and she turned her attention to the bun on the napkin, taking a bite of the sticky sweet pastry. The icing stuck to her fingers and her knees brushed against the garlands with adorned with large holly sprigs.

Someone began a loud chorus of "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogryphs" and Ellie joined in, pausing only to appologise to one of the small gilded doves roosted among the thick leaves of the garland—she had bumped it, which set it to flap its wings and coo angrily. Not long after the song ended, McGonagall came into the tavern and collected her, along with a few other students lingering over drinks and snacks.

Now back at Hogwarts, in the Gryffindor common room, Eleanor gathered up the cards she had written and headed out to the owlrey.

* * *

Severus rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Lucius. I don't want you to hire some diseased and parasite-ridden trollop for my ushering in of the New Year. Now let me return to my game of gobstones with Draco."

Severus leaned against one of the giant pillars in the massive marble corridor of the Malfoy mansion, scowling with arms crossed sharply.

"All right," Lucius said unconvinced. "But don't complain to me about it later."

Lucius sauntered off and Severus grumbled, returning the large drawing room where his godson sat on the floor, a set off solid gold gobstones scattered in front of him. Severus lowered himself gingerly onto a soft sitting cusion; he had taken a nasty tumble down the moving staircase and he had his suspicions that Quirrell was behind it.

"What did my dad want?" Draco asked as he shifted a few of his playing stones on the stone floor.

"He wanted to find me company for the evening."

Draco looked up, his face twisted into a bratish pout. "What's wrong with me? I thought we were going to set off all those fireworks in the garden."

"I told your father that I was more than happy spending New Year's eve playing games and indulging pyromaniac longings with my favourite godson," he said blandly, but gave the boy a wink.

"Dad said—BLEH!" Draco shouted, falling backwards.

The gobstone had sprayed him in the face with thick green goo.

"You lost," Severus said smugly as he watched the game's scoreboard give another tally mark to his side.

Grumbling, Draco stood up and went over to a waiting house elf whom was holding a wet dish towel. As Severus set up the gobstones for another game, the eleven year old wiped his face clean and talk animatedly.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you earlier, but thank you very much for my Yule gift, Godfather. The quill is beautiful and so far I've annotated the first two chapters of the books you gave me—the "_New Theory of Numerology_" and almost the full third chapter of "Unbinding Gramatica Following Logic". How did you know I wanted those books? I've been begging mum forever to get them, but she _always_ says the same thing—"You're a Malfoy, you'll work at the Ministry." Merlin, I just wish dad would be allow me that mentorship at Gringotts."

Severus nodded sympathetically. "Your father is simply trying to give you the best future possible. Maybe if your marks stay as high as they are now, he'll reconsider the summer mentorship."

Draco's eyes gave a pleading look. "Would you talk to him about it?"

"Of course. You're the first on either side of your family that hasn't acted as a complete failure their first year," he said, accepting a hot chocolate from one of the house elves, Dobby.

Draco puffed out his chest and strutted over to fireplace, jabbing at the burning logs with the poker. There was the sharp noise of boots down the hallway and Narcissa appeared, wearing elegant crimson dressrobes. As much as Severus hated her haughty attitude, she was a good friend and no doubt the most beautiful. Unlike so many women who ran in the same social circle as the Malfoy's, Narcissa was educated, delighting in runes and architecture, much like her son. Severus admired her intelligence and problem-solving mind and she seemed to genuinely like him as well, adoring him as Draco's loving godfather, admiring him as Lucius' loyal best friend.

This evening her lips had been painted an attractive red, enhancing the fullness her catty smile. Delicately applied kohl made the snow white and deep indigo of her eyes stand out, guarded only by her long thick lashes that seemed to rise and fall with careful timing. Her hair, golden flax, was twisted up, accented by a ridiculous assortment of baubles and feathers that matched the colour of her robes and jewelry.

Her eyes met his and she gave a charming smile to him, adding a wink. He returned the smile and she played with one of her long golden earrings, acting as though she were adjusting it. "Severus, Draco, we're leaving for the evening. Are you sure neither of you want to join us?" She gave a hopeful smile to her son. "I'm sure that lovely girl Pansy will be there."

Draco let out a dramatic sigh. "NO, mum. I've already said a thousand times—"

She wrinkled her nose and held up a hand. "All right, all right. No need to speak to me like that."

She turned her indigo eyes to him and Severus shook his head. "I'm fine Narcissa. Thank you for the offer, though."

Narcissa gave a dramatic sigh, not unlike her son. "Well, if you're sure. You boys behave." She beckoned to her boy, who once again rolled his eyes. "_Draco_…"

He gave her a stiff hug, much to the amusement of Severus. "_Yes_, mum. Have fun at your party."

"Give me a kiss," she cooed and he kissed her cheek, obviously embarrassed that she was acting so affectionate in front of Severus.

No one could say that Narcissa wasn't a mother. She had spoilt Draco rotten, indulging his every whim and want with her husband's bank account. Severus knew she was would face down a dragon magicless if it meant her son would be happy. It was hard to believe that this creature of beauty and health, had not long ago rasped to him from her deathbed to bring her toddler son for one last kiss goodbye…

Narcissa gave a tender kiss to Draco's temple, leaving a red mark in the shape of her lips. She gave him a loving smile and finally let him break away as Lucius entered the room, fixing his ascot. Predictably, his hair was tied back and he was wearing dress robes of crimson, matching style and material to his wife's.

"Severus, you know where my liquor is. Draco, you aren't to have more than a glass—Dobby will tell me if you have more."

Draco nodded, oblivious to the lipmark on the side of his head. "Yes, sir."

Lucius nodded towards him and then said, "I'll see both of you next year."

He chuckled at his attempt at a joke and Severus rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the game. After a few more rounds of winning, he stretched his arms and Draco glanced up to the windows behind them.

"Come on! The snowfall's stopped! We can go set light to all those fireworks Dad ordered!"

Severus pulled out his pocket watch, though he knew full well what time it was. 11:36 pm.

"I suppose. The new year is drawing soon upon us."

As they headed down the expansive hallways, magically warmed by the house elves, Draco piped up again.

"Uh, godfather, I've noticed in your office you have a copy of "_Ancient Runes Made Easy" _and—"

"Yes, Draco, I'll lend it to you." He snuck a sidelong glance. "And if you provide a twenty-four inch essay on each chapter, I'll buy you a copy for yourself."

The fireworks Lucius had purchased were waiting out in the back garden, by the maze and living statues. Three large crates had been opened and a small cardboard container filled with lighting sticks and the young Malfoy began to rummage through assorted, brightly wrapped pyrotechnics.

"Oh, wicked!" Draco exclaimed, lifting a large bird-shaped creation out of second crate.

"Bring it over," Serverus instructed and he admired the Fully Phoenix Firework that Draco held.

They carried the large, brightly coloured avian form a safe distance away, then pulled down its wire stand. A thick rope hung from the tail and both he and the boy grabbed hold of it.

"On the count of three, Draco. One, two, three!"

They both gave a sharp yank on the heavy rope, then hurried backwards, stumbling in the snow to get away from the soon-to-explode pyrotechnic. The Fully Phoenix sputtered and whistled and they had just barely reached the safety of the marble pillars when the firework took off.

"Woohoo!" Draco cheered. "Happy New Year."

Severus gave a snorting laugh as he put an arm over the boy's shoulder, watching the brilliant phoenix soar high above them.

* * *

Eleanor sat in one of the warm armchairs in front of the commonroom fireplace, her feet bare and propped up on a leather ottoman. She was reading an adventure novel she had bought two years ago in Diagon Alley and had never gotten around to reading. It was about a young girl who had discovered she was one of the Fae's changlings—

"Eleanor?"

A face appeared in the flames and she dropped her book in shock.

"MUM!" she shouted happily.

"Hello, Ellie! How are you?"

She leaned towards the fire. "I'm fine—"

A second face popped up next to her mother's. "Hi, Eleanor! How's my favourite little girl?"

Her grin widened. "Hi, Dad!"

"Thank you for the card—it's already gone off here and your great-grandfather loved it," her mother said and Eleanor drew her armchair closer to the fireplace.

"How is he? Has he told you what bit him yet?" she asked, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "No, you know him. But we think we've figured out what it was; he's been trying to raise Gumju plants and there was an infestation of wart worms in the fruit."

"Yuck," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"I know. And the wart worms attract those venomous bats—remember the ones we had to scare out of Uncle Oubastet's attic? Those ones."

Her father added, "He's been given the antidote though and he's been getting better."

Eleanor smiled and nodded. "Thank you for the Omnioculars. They're great."

"You'll take care of them?" her father asked, sounding more like a warning.

"Of course."

"Sorry we haven't talked with you since Christmas. How was the Christmas feast?" her mother butted in.

"Nice. We got Cribbage's Wizarding Crackers and all the seventh years got a galleon in theirs. Um, mine had a little metal knight who's been patrolling around our room for the past few days, a few candies, a new deck of exploding snap cards…you know, the usual cracker fare. The feast wasn't bad either; good turkey and I think McGonagall must have talked to the house elves because I had a small bowl of sugared scarab beetles. Not the way the market vendors do it, but…" she shrugged and smiled.

"Well I'm glad you're eating, honey. You've been looking very thin and don't think I don't see the shadows under your eyes."

"Oh…I've just been staying up late. You know, having fun," she lied. "So have either of you done anything fun for the holidays?"

"Well, everyone in the family has been taking turns sitting with great-grandfather, so in between shifts, we've been visiting the zoo and just spending time with your cousins. Oh, and we sat in on seminar about the process of mummification!"

Completely relaxed in the overstuffed armchair, Eleanor blissfully listened to her parents talk about Cairo's wizarding academe and the mummy that got loose in the middle of the lecture. She wished she could have been there to see the crowd panic, over turning chairs to escape its hexes and screaming in fear. She wished she could have been there to visit her great-grandfather, arguing with him about what she should do with her life after Hogwarts and listening to his stories about wizarding duels. She wished she could have spent the holidays at home with family and not alone here in the expansive castle.

It was rounding midnight and they finally said their goodbye's, promising to talk by fire again soon. The fire flickered and faded once her parents left and she gathered up her book and slippers, heading off to the dormroom. She yawned and found the little metal knight climbing down the stone stairs, obviously trying to find her. She scooped him up and slipped him into her dressing gown pocket, wondering if he was going to try following her to class and perhaps she ought to lock him in her bedside drawer? She patted the pocket gently and knight sheathed his miniature sword.

The dormroom had a slight draft in it and Eleanor hung her dressing gown on her bed's sidepost, stripping out of her bloomers and stripped stockings and pulling on a crisply ironed nightgown. She found her New Year's cards from the Shunpikes and the Youngs and flopped down onto her bed with them. She propped herself up with her elbows, on her stomach, and carefully set the two cards in front of her face.

"Want to watch?" she called out into the empty room and her dressing gown rustled, the knight figure appearing as he made his climb on the soft material to the bed post, his miniature armour clinking against the mahogany wood.

The cards began to rattle and vibrate and Eleanor leaned in close, excited as always to see them go off. The knight ran across her bed and the cards really began to shake as the stroke of midnight came closer. She tightened her hands into fists and bit her lower lip; at home in years past, this had always been her favourite part—

There was a popping noise as both cards burst in unison; a handful's worth of sparkles and minute confetti sprayed into the air, falling tiredly onto her quilt. A few shiny gold flakes clung to her eyelashes and she rubbed them away. It was over as quickly as it had began and she sighed. The small knight held out his hand to her and she grinned.

"You want the first kiss of the New Year? All right then, come 'ere!" she giggled.

She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the front of his helmet. He bowed and then scrambled off the bed. She crawled under the cozy blankets, the bed already warmed by house elves and as she closed her eyes, she could hear her little knight's footsteps as he patrolled the stone floor of her room once again.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the late update folks. I've just started university again and I had to move to a different state entirely, plus a bunch of crap regarding paperwork…I intend to post the next much sooner, maybe next week?_

_Oh, and Draco never struck me as a stupid kid—just arrogant and lazy. _


End file.
